


Evanstan Round Robin 2018

by Ediblecrayon, gingertintedglasses, luninosity, musette22, TJ_Mason, worrisomeme



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Returning Home, Round Robin, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:42:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediblecrayon/pseuds/Ediblecrayon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertintedglasses/pseuds/gingertintedglasses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/musette22/pseuds/musette22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJ_Mason/pseuds/TJ_Mason, https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: “Chris Evans.”  The voice comes warm and smooth and heart-wrenchingly familiar from his left.Swallowing his sip of beer to buy his heart a moment to settle into the well-worn grooves of love and guilt he’d almost forgotten were there, Chris turns.  “Sebastian.”Seb raises his glass.  “You remembered.”Chris returns home at the holidays after almost a decade living out-of-state.  He's not home 24 hours before he runs into his high school sweetheart, Sebastian.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the 2018 Evanstan Round Robin! I'm excited to kick off this year's story. 
> 
> The story will be updated every 4 - 5 days until December 25 - enjoy!
> 
> Ratings and tags may be changed/updated as we go, but I don't think it'll be anything that requires a warning.

So Chris is back. Home. Here. Same soil under-tire when he turns off the road and onto the (long, winding) driveway a half-mile from his parents’ farmhouse. Same fields left fallow for the Indiana winter. Same wide-open sky and nearest neighbors a fifteen-minute drive.

The furrows at the top of the driveway are distantly familiar as he feels the wheels of his tires settle into them.   The door to the house, blue paint sun-faded and peeling, swings open. His mother’s there, arms wide and smile wider as she makes for the car before he’s even out of it. The ignition pings, keys forgotten and door flung wide, as his mother wraps him up in a hug.

The video quality of Skype calls has hidden deepening the lines around her eyes and her mouth. It nearly tugs the smile from his face, except his sisters beat him to the house, and their kids are spilling out of the house behind his mother. He’s there again, finally. He’s back. 

“Uncle Chris!” His nephew launches himself at Chris’ legs. It’s a Christmas miracle that they don’t topple immediately into the open car door. “We beat you to Nana’s! By a whole _day_!”

“That’s because I live in a whole different state. _And_ it means you get to pick one present to open today.” Chris nods to his back seat. “Help your cousins carry in all those presents. – _No_ peeking!” 

Gifts and children and laughter disappear into the house, and then his mother’s got her arms around him again before he can turn to see where she’d found safety mid-welcome-tackle.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Christopher! Hi.” She sniffles. “We missed you. Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be back. It’s –I’m-“ He leans away to see her face and her eyes are bright and brimming and smiling.

“I know. It’s good to have you back. Even if-“ Lisa Evans’ smile falters for a moment. Two. Lisa Evans pulls her expression and her family up by its bootstraps. “Even if it’s not really the way you wanted things to go. We’re glad to have you back. Your room is always here if you need it.”

Chris sighs and swallows down a lightening-strike of panic and pushes back on the crushing weight of what his brain tells him is failure. He’s nearly thirty and he needs to keep it together once in a while, even in the face of unexpected changes to his Life Plans.

“I missed you guys. I’ll – thank you – I won’t be in the way long, I promise. I’ll get my feet under me again and I’ll get my own place.”

His mother doesn’t quite frown, but doesn’t exactly keep smiling, either. “Whatever you want, honey. You know you always have a place here.” She motions towards the house. “Now come on. It’s freezing out here.”

 

*****

 

It’s not until after dinner is eaten, plates are cleared, and children are generally settled into their evening bedtime routine that Chris ducks out of the house for some air. He honestly and truly only meant to step outside for a few moments. He’s the one that’s changed, he knows. He’s the one that’s different. Not in a bad way, or a good way. Just in a way that means, well, everything’s _different._

He’s in his car and halfway downtown–two blocks of shops and restaurants and the only two bars in town- before he knows it.

He’s at the bar ordering a drink and wondering how he drove away from a house full of love seven years ago and never went _back_. Wondering if there wasn’t something different but rather _wrong_. Thinking that maybe, he’s allowed to pursue his dreams. Just now, now that things have changed, it was time to come home after all.

Chris is thinking a lot of things, and his beer isn’t offering up anything beyond companionable silence. He doesn’t mind. He’s thinking himself in circles and he’s been working on doing that a little less. It’s a process. It’s ok. He pulls himself out of his head and brings his glass to his lips, intent on watching the football game that’s on mute on one of the two TVs behind the bar.

“Chris Evans.” The voice comes warm and smooth and heart-wrenchingly familiar from his left. 

Swallowing his sip of beer to buy his heart a moment to settle into the well-worn grooves of love and guilt he’d almost forgotten were there, Chris turns. “Sebastian.”

Seb raises his glass. “You remembered.”

Sebastian looks different, too; enough that Chris can’t ignore how long it’s been. He’s sporting a five o’clock shadow and black-rimmed glasses and a cozy-looking grey sweater complementing still-broad shoulders and expressive eyes.

“Of course I do. You – you’re home? For the holidays, I mean.”

Sebastian shrugs and turns back towards the bar, motioning for his check. “I still live here. So yes, in a way.”

“You do?”

Sebastian pins him then with a look that is simultaneously wounded, curious, and discerning. “I teach at the regional high school, Chris. Did you – have you not-“ Sebastian sighs, and pulls a smile from nowhere at all. Up-close magic trick style. “It’s good to run into you.” He accepts his tab from the bartender and turns his attention to his bill.

“Wait –Seb. –Sorry. I knew that. I did. Mom mentioned it once. I forgot. Sorry.”

Sebastian opens and closes his mouth twice before he settles on: “Once?”

Chris winces. “God, I’m such a jerk. More than that. I’ve – I ask about you. I do. I have.”

Sebastian takes a last, long sip of his beer and appears to lose a fight with himself. “I ask about you, too.”

Chris’ heart leaps, unbidden and he smiles too wide and he only feels a little self-conscious for it. “You do?” 

“Yeah, I ask about you.” He leans in conspiratorially. “We wanted different things; that never meant I stopped caring about you.”

“I do too, you know. Still care.”

Sebastian smiles, small and cautious and sets his bottle carefully on the bar next to Chris. “Like I said, it was good running into you.”

Before Chris can form a response, Sebastian steps away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christopher Evans, are you stalking me now?” It’s accompanied by a laugh, but it’s strained.
> 
> Chris whirls around and faces Sebastian at the next table over. He forces a smile to his face and his laugh comes out as strained as the other man’s had. “I could ask you the same question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter coming to you (a couple days early) from Hailli :) Hope you guys enjoy!!

Chris spends that night tossing and turning instead of sleeping. He’d already been all mixed up inside about coming home at all, about giving up on his dreams and feeling like a failure and what the hell was he going to do now? That alone was enough to produce too many restless, sleepless nights, too many nightmares when he managed a few hours. But running into Sebastian Stan last night? That had only scrambled him up more.

From the second he heard that voice he knew his feelings for the other man were still as strong as ever, locked away in a cellar in his heart where he couldn’t feel the pain anymore, but never gone. But what is he supposed to do with that? Sebastian had said he still cares about him, but with the way things ended and how much time has passed, could they ever mend things fully? Would Sebastian even want to? Was he even single?

Does he himself even really want to, or is he just reverting, trying to cling to the last thing that brought him that much joy and a feeling of being alive? Seb has clearly moved on, and he thought he had too, really. But the way his heart fluttered and his breath left him when he smiled last night, maybe he hasn’t moved on as much as he thought.

Chris looks at the clock and sighs when he sees the time. Too late, too early. Soon he’ll be hearing the kids climbing out of bed, running through the halls to wake their parents. He thinks maybe he can’t deal with facing that- facing _them_ right now, their kindness, their pity. Guilt washes over him for the hundredth time in the past 24 hours, but he climbs out of bed and gets dressed.

He’s at the coffee shop before his consciousness had even thought of anywhere to bring him, and it’s still the same old Bean & Leaf on the sign, but everything about it is different now. He can’t help but sigh as he looks around, watching the suits as he waits for the barista to finish his drink. Is that going to be his fate? He can’t help but wonder. He’s just starting to spiral again when he hears a familiar voice.

“Christopher Evans, are you stalking me now?” It’s accompanied by a laugh, but it’s strained.

Chris whirls around and faces Sebastian at the next table over. He forces a smile to his face and his laugh comes out as strained as the other man’s had. “I could ask you the same question.”

Seb motions toward the table where stacks of paper and a few pens in various colors are scattered around. “Trying to get the grading done early in the break,” he says, leaning an elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand. “What’s your excuse?”

“Lotta little kids in the house right now, and they wake up _early_ ,” Chris half-lies, another chuckle slipping past his lips. He absent-mindedly takes his coffee from the barista and is grateful for something to do with his hands, at least. He hopes the bags under his eyes don’t give him away.

“Ah, so I hear,” Sebastian replies, his face lighting up with understanding.

There’s a tension lingering in the silence stretching between them and it twists in Chris’s gut. He longs for the time when they were comfortable around each other, when things weren’t so goddamn awkward. He remembers nights spent here, kisses shared. He feels his cheeks pinking up and starts to say, “Well, I’ll let you get back to the grading.”

But at the same time Seb says, “I’m sorry about last night,” and neither finishes their sentence.

Classic Sebastian, Chris thinks, apologizing even though it was him who put his foot in his damn mouth about a million times.

“No, I’m sorry,” Chris says at the same time Sebastian starts, “Oh, well, yeah-“ This time they both laugh, at least, thought the tension is still palpable.

“You go first,” Sebastian says with a gesture and flushing cheeks.

“I was just gonna say not to apologize. I was-“ he shakes his head. He’s trying to work on being so self-deprecating, he reminds himself. “I just mean, _I’m_ sorry for being weird or whatever. It really has been nice to see you again.”

“I’m sorry about how things turned out for you, but I’m glad you’re back in town,” Seb replies, a small smile on his face. There’s something in his eyes that Chris can’t quite read anymore, and he’s reminded once again of how long it’s really been. “But, hey, I won’t hold you up anymore. Tell the family I said hello, and have some extra fun for me, okay?”

Chris chuckles and shakes his head at the thought of the chaos he’s sure is waiting for him back at his parents’ house. They’re decorating the Christmas tree and baking cookies today.

“Yeah, I’ll let you finish up your homework so you can get to enjoying your break. I’ll let them know. Same for you, okay? And don’t work _too_ hard.”

“I’ll try,” Seb laughs.

They each give a small wave and then Chris is trying not to run out the door. He sits in his car mentally scolding himself for a solid ten minutes before even starting it, head on the wheel and coffee cup clutched in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed it and I can't wait to see what everyone else does with the story!!
> 
> Feel free to check out my [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/works) or my [tumblr](https://worrisomeme.tumblr.com)<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sebastian usually spends the holidays with the Evans family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is my first attempt at participation in a round robin.  
> I hope you all enjoy!  
> Thanks to @djchika for the beta help!

Sebastian finds it impossible to concentrate on grading after Chris leaves. His mood worsening as he watches couples come and go. Gathering his work, he makes his way home. As he walks, his thoughts circle back to what he wants to do with the pent up resentment that keeps surfacing when Chris appears.

Seb knows it's unhealthy to hold onto all the bad feelings, at least his therapist says so. What's a guy to do? After almost eight years your ex shows up looking better than ever, still having the ability to bring you to your knees. In his wildest dreams, he honestly never thought he would see him again. Chris had very definite ideas on what he thought about his hometown and the people in it when he left.

Sebastian usually spends the holidays with the Evans family. Making his way into his small bungalow home, he's wondering if maybe he should sit this holiday out. Seb knows that if he doesn't go, he'll regret it. With a resigned sigh he goes back out to face the cold and his demons.

As Sebastian turns the corner to the Evans’ house, he wonders if Lisa told Chris he was coming over. Pulling in, Sebastian lingers in his car. He watches Chris and his sisters as they put up lights over the porch. Getting out, he listens to their banter as they arrange strands of icicles. It makes him realize how much he enjoys this time of year.

Chris turns as he hears a car door open. He's surprised to see Sebastian getting out. "I'm pretty sure you're stalking me this time.” Chris states.

Sebastian laughs “Well, I promised your mother that I would help out with the decorating. It's kinda become a tradition.”

“I thought that once I left you wouldn't want reminders of us.” Chris says watching Seb head toward him.

Sebastian stops as Chris finishes talking. "You left. Your mother kinda adopted me. I can go if you want.”

Chris lowers his head, “I'm fairly certain my mother would disown me if you did.”

“Well, we wouldn't want that now would we.” Seb says as he reaches Chris.

They both head inside to see what Chris’ mother has in store for the both of them.

From the time the two men walk in, Sebastian is the center of attention. Lisa's greeting is the same as she would give any of her children. A loving mother with a dash of ‘you don't call, you don't write’ thrown in. It's always that little zing of guilt that all mothers know how to deliver.

“And where have you been, young man?” Lisa greets Sebastian as she hugs him. “I was wondering when you were going to join the yearly fun!”

Sebastian turns slightly red at the attention. “Well, I have all these students scrabbling for my undivided attention these days.” He says giving her an extra squeeze before letting go. “Besides, you have Chris here now to keep you out of trouble.”

“I'll accept that apology, for now.” Lisa returns. She goes over to her bewildered son and hugs him close. “I couldn't let both my boys go, now could l?” She whispers to him.

Finally, Lisa announces, “Now that the rest of the help is here, we'll really get started on the decorating.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian’s lovely framed by green and red and gold. Sebastian’s gorgeous wreathed by the scents of peppermint hot cocoa and sugar-frosted dough. Sebastian’s beautiful when laughing and sorting through ornaments for the tree, long fingers like music amid glass and glitter and ridiculous Evans family handmade popsicle-stick reindeer. 
> 
> Chris watches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so we know I can't write short things, right? right. *sigh* I've tried. I think it's still okay, though!

Sebastian’s lovely framed by green and red and gold. Sebastian’s gorgeous wreathed by the scents of peppermint hot cocoa and sugar-frosted dough. Sebastian’s beautiful when laughing and sorting through ornaments for the tree, long fingers like music amid glass and glitter and ridiculous Evans family handmade popsicle-stick reindeer.

Chris watches him. Chris doesn’t mean to watch him. Chris doesn’t _want_ to watch him, except that Chris can’t not: every grin, every gesture when handing over a fuzzy-maned holiday unicorn to a niece, every puzzled head-tip at a foreboding knot in a light-string. Each motion tugs Chris that way like a compass-needle to true north.

There’s no way to not look. That awareness of Seb’s presence hasn’t gone away, not with years and distance and hurt between them; no, it wakes right back up and kicks Chris in the heart, not with newness but with how easy it is.

Loving Seb was always the easy part. _That_ hadn’t been their problem.

Some of the ornaments, old and battered by affection, are missing hooks. Sebastian finds and twists paper-clips into makeshift replacements. His hands have always moved that way: a mixture of clumsy and graceful, entrancing and enthusiastic. He’s wearing green today, in the holiday spirit, and he’s got stray glitter on one forearm under a shoved-up sleeve.

Scott unearths a lopsided lump of red, and, because Chris’s little brother is a dick, announces, “Hey, bro, I found your greatest artistic achievement ever.”

“Don’t mock my Santa Claus,” Chris grumbles. “Not when the head fell off _yours_. Decapitated Saint Nick. Traumatizing.” Their school’d had holiday art projects for every grade level. The term _art_ here is broadly defined.

But the teasing hurts, too, even as he hunts around for Scott’s severed holiday head—which they’d saved, and it goes on the tree every single year—and throws it at his brother. The words flip around and slip in like a surgeon’s scalpel and slice deep.

Art. Dreams. The hope he’d left with. The few years when it’d seemed as if everything might’ve worked out, that fairytale coming true, small-town boy makes good, talent recognized by everybody—

The opposite. The pain. The dull growing ache of realization. Some people made it. Some people didn’t. For any one of dozens of reasons. Hundreds of reasons. Not all of them his fault, not that that helps.  

And now he’s here. Back home.

Where his greatest artistic achievement is a half-melted ceramic Santa blob he made in fifth grade.

Sebastian’s hands move again, or rather pause in motion; it’s not really noticeable, except that Chris notices. And of course Seb’s amused. Seb knows that childhood story as well as the rest of them. Seb once teased Chris about never working with ceramics again, preferring paint and pencil, after that.

But all Seb says is, “These should go someplace near the front, I think? Near lights, so they can shine,” and his hand’s holding one of the delicate hand-painted glass balls from years ago, the Christmas when Chris’s niece had wanted to make something for everyone, when Chris had helped her decorate and design and cheered her on, when they’d given them as presents. The one Seb’s picked up has Chris’s mother’s name on it, in shimmering blues and silver tones.

Chris recalls that Christmas. The lump sticks in his throat.

He’s sure Seb recalls that Christmas too. It’d been their last together, though they’d not known it then.

But Seb goes on, softly, “You made her so happy, helping with that. Helping her surprise everyone. And, you know, the bright orange and purple _definitely_ suits Scott.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Scott says. “I like purple.”

“So I think you’ll want them near the front.” Sebastian carefully unwraps a few more in the set. He’s not quite looking at Chris. The younger generation has fled to the kitchen in pursuit of fresh-baked cookies, and the noise echoes like a carol in the background, mingling with “Jingle Bells” from their seasonally-themed playlist. “They’ll make her smile. Good memories.”

And Chris sits back on heels, gazing at him. Because Sebastian, with a few sentences and an offering of glass, has pressed a bandage over that heart-wound. Not sewed up, not completely, but first aid in place.

Because Sebastian, without even looking at him, has known what he’s feeling and why. Has chosen to remind him of a different moment: a moment in which Chris’s art had made a kid happy, a memory that might make her happy again years on.

“But it’s only a thought.” Seb gets up, trying and failing to brush glitter off his arm. It’s on his jeans now too. “I’m going to go steal a cookie before they disappear. You know how I feel about the Evans holiday baking. You two can hang those.”

And he heads for the kitchen. Leaving Chris and Scott with the ornaments.

Because Chris hasn’t said anything. Because Chris is still sitting there trying to wrap his head around Sebastian’s comment. Seb rescuing him. Seb thinking that Chris can make people happy.

It’s a lot to process.

And Sebastian’s out of sight, though his voice floats back: accepting coffee, dodging small children and large dogs, saying _of course_ to assistance with making more cocoa for chilly small hands. Being here, being helpful.

Chris remembers, suddenly, something Seb’d said once: the first time he’d invited Sebastian over for the annual decorating, in fact. Chris had been anxious but certain, a bewildering combination of apprehension and absolute giddy delight at making Seb part of the family; Sebastian can be—not shy, but reserved, on first meeting, taking in people and measuring his own responses and the degree to which he can be himself, but five minutes in Scott had made a joke about the size of the carrots they’d be leaving out for Santa’s reindeer, and Seb had looked momentarily startled but then widened those eyes and asked very seriously whether Scott had meant length or girth, in terms of carrot size and mouth capacity. Chris had stopped worrying about Seb fitting in, after that.

Partway through the afternoon he’d come in from helping with lights outside, shaking off cold and peeling off gloves, to find Seb standing alone by a window gazing out at the scene, fingers cradling cocoa; Chris had put an arm around him and asked, “Too much? Too loud? We are pretty obnoxious, so just say the word if you need a break and you and I can run out to a coffee shop or a movie or something.”

“No,” Seb had said, turning under his arm, smiling. “No, I like this. I love Christmas with my mom and stepdad, you know I do, my family’s amazing, but this is—it’s like holiday greeting cards come to life.”

“Like generic good wishes and bad puns about jingling bells?”

“The bad puns, maybe. No, definitely. Scott and I were trading roasted chestnut jokes, earlier. No, I mean it’s everything we didn’t have, before coming to America—we celebrated, but not like this. This is like the story I used to hear about from books or television shows. Lights and cookies and Christmas carols playing and this morning’s gingerbread houses.”

“Those houses totally all fell over. And two of the kids got gumdrops in their _hair_. And this is like the eighth time we’ve heard ‘O Christmas Tree.’”

“Ninth,” Sebastian had corrected, leaning comfortably into him. “It’s not a storybook kind of story. It’s real.”

Here and now, in the present, Chris looks at Seb’s abandoned ornaments. Unwrapped, glass and paint, they shimmer at him. They’re real, too. This is real. Him being here. Seb being here.

“You can put those up,” Scott decides, either being gloriously tactful or supremely oblivious to undercurrents. “I’ll hang this garland over the side door.”

“Sure,” Chris agrees absently. When he looks at the ornaments he realizes Seb has left one wrapped, at the bottom of the box. When he unfolds the paper his breath actually snags somewhere in his chest, like a bruise, like a tumble over an unexpected cliff.

A door bangs—assorted kids streaming out to check on the progress of the outdoor lights—and Chris’s mom’s voice asks a question that ends in, “—you doing, these days?”

“Oh, you know,” Seb says lightly. “Grading. Getting high school kids to read Shakespeare out loud in class. Torturing them. The usual.”

Chris touches Sebastian’s ornament, which is a sort of smoky black-grey with little flowers—patterned after an old favorite shirt of Seb’s, only with holiday red and green in the flowers instead of summer-sun yellow-and-white daisies. He’d made that one for Seb, while helping his niece with the rest.

“Your students love you and you know it,” Lisa scolds. “Not what I meant. You and—what was his name—”

Chris’s stomach hits the bottom of his shoes.

“Anthony, probably,” Seb fills in. “But we’re just friends. Good friends, but that’s it. Anyway he’s got a girlfriend.”

“No, not that one—I do like him, though, bring him over again sometime—the one you went out with a couple of times earlier this year, your school’s replacement wrestling coach—”

“Frank.” Seb’s voice is a bit quieter. “No. That’s not…I only went out with him a second time because he asked and I didn’t say no fast enough or clearly enough or something enough, and he took it as a yes, and it was easier to just go along with it. He’s not a bad guy—kind of annoyingly persistent, not great at taking hints, but not bad—but I just…I don’t know. It wasn’t feeling right.”

“Well, if you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it.” Lisa’s voice sounds like a shoulder-pat, motherly and firm. Chris can picture it. “You know I only don’t want you to be lonely.”

“How can I be?” Sebastian’s voice warms: happy, appreciative, comforting in turn. “I’ve got you.”

“All of us,” Lisa says firmly. “By the way, I can see Scott out there in the yard chasing the kids, which means Chris is finishing the tree alone, and he could certainly use some help. Take cookies. No, more than that, you both deserve them.”

Chris, who has been frozen in place while Scott ditched him to menace children, has not continued decorating the tree. Chris can barely breathe.

Sebastian’s been dating—kind of, sort of, not successfully, but dating, and why would Chris have ever thought he wouldn't; Seb's wonderful and of course other people would see that, would want him, would be lucky to be with him—but is currently single. Sebastian’s gone out with someone who’s not great at taking hints about a no, though it sounds like that’s at least maybe hopefully over. Sebastian’s got friends and students and Shakespeare and a life.

And Chris’s mother just suggested that Seb come back and help Chris.

Surely his mother’s not matchmaking. Not after everything that’s happened. Surely not.

“Chris?”

Chris jerks his head up. Sebastian. Right there, while Chris’s brain’s been whirling. Holding a plate of sugar-cookie snowmen.

“Um,” Chris says, intelligently.

“Oh, here,” Seb says, and sets down the plate and brushes past him, “did you not hear me, about putting those up near lights, so they shine? I can do that, if you’d rather hang that Disney-themed set—”

“Um,” Chris says once more, and puts a whole cookie in his mouth so he’ll have an excuse not to talk. Seb’s now begun hanging those family ornaments. The ones Chris helped paint. The ones that, according to Seb, will make people smile.

He gets up. He picks up Scott’s purple-and-orange swirled globe. He hangs that one, and his sister Carly’s. Near lights, as requested.

Sebastian gives him a little smile, and hangs Lisa’s right where it’ll glimmer. There’s still glitter on his jeans, over one thigh. Chris can't not look. Seb's always had nice thighs. They've only gotten nicer.

He shouldn't be looking. No right. Not anymore.

He takes a deep breath. Picks up Seb’s ornament. Slips it onto their tree, nestled in green, framed by a golden light or two.

Seb hasn’t noticed which one he’s hung, so Chris goes to find the Disney box; a second or two later he hears a pause, specifically the sort of pause that isn’t simply natural silence but comes from someone arrested in motion, gazing at a tree.

“Chris,” Seb says, while Chris stares fiercely at two ornaments modeled after the mice from _The Rescuers,_ “you—”

Scott’s half-hung doorway garland launches itself to the floor. Because it’s a large garland, the coiling rustle takes some time. The mountainous heap of green happily blocks any entrance or exit.

They both stare at it.

“So,” Chris says finally, “guess we should fix that.”

“Yes,” Sebastian says. “Come and help, and I’ll help you with the Disney box after?”

The Christmas music on Scott’s playlist becomes, with a flawless sense of timing, “O Christmas Tree”.

“Yeah,” Chris says again. “Yeah, um, sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: MarcellaBianca, posting by/on December 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Talking to yourself: the poor man’s therapy.”
> 
> Seb whipped his head around and glared at Margarita. She just tilted her head from where she was, folded up on his desk chair like the world’s most elegant spider.
> 
> “If you’re going to sit there and mock me, Margo, you don’t need to be here at all.” He held up a brown leather jacket that had survived years of graduate study and two years of adjunct work. “Help me pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's my turn! I'm so excited to unleash this chapter upon the world. All of the thanks and love to Brenda for shepherding me through this chapter, especially her notes in the Word Vomit stage (you don't even want to know what this looked like when I first started writing it - one of her notes literally just said "NOPE".)

One of the things that had drawn Sebastian to Chris in the first place was that the man was constantly thinking. His mind was so quick and clever, always one step ahead of everything.  Like the time they were teamed up to write a story on a Colts game, and Chris immediately knew every single angle they should take. “I can handle it,” he said to Seb, putting a hand on his arm. 

Heat had blossomed across Sebastian’s skin. He knew he was well and truly done. 

It was that drive that ultimately shattered them, Sebastian thought, surliness clouding his brain as he threw a white T-shirt onto the pile of other white T-shirts (along with his old Delta High English Club shirt, because he liked to sleep in it). It was because of that drive, that desire to do everything his own way, that Chris had done what he did without even fucking – 

He clenched his fists. Enough of that. The last thing Sebastian wanted was to show up at his family’s house still mooning over his goddamn high school and college boyfriend. 

“Stop it,” he admonished himself. 

“Talking to yourself: the poor man’s therapy.”

Seb whipped his head around and glared at Margarita. She just tilted her head from where she was, folded up on his desk chair like the world’s most elegant spider.

“If you’re going to sit there and mock me, Margo, you don’t need to be here at all.” He held up a brown leather jacket that had survived years of graduate study and two years of adjunct work. “Help me pack.” 

“First of all -  _ you _ didn’t help  _ me _ pack when I moved out of here,” Margo retorted, “and second of all, if I weren’t here, who would I drink this with?” She wiggled her thermos of spiked hot chocolate. 

“I don’t want to deal with you right now, Margo.”

“You let me in!”

“You were sitting in front of my house. I felt sympathy. You looked like a bum.”

“A bum with alcohol and a Gucci bag. And a Prada coat. And a Burberry scarf. Thank you _ very _ much.” Margo tossed the thermos over to Sebastian.  When he reflexively caught it, she smiled that smile, the one that carried her and Sebastian through three years together. “You know,” she mused, “when you’re that ready for the unexpected, it means you have an overactive amygdala.”

Sebastian looked at Margo from down the length of his glasses. “Isn’t that a character in  _ Star Wars _ ?” 

“You know what I mean, you insufferable nerd,” Margo said, rolling her eyes. “The limbic system is where all the anxiety lives. This is like, neuroscience 101. You let your amygdala run your life, Seb. You should really be thinking about the part of your brain that lets you, you know, think critically.” 

She draped one long leg over the other, one elegantly sculpted eyebrow raised. “I’m just saying, my college freshmen have a better handle on this shit than you do.” 

“Don’t throw your neuroscience at me, Professor,” Seb grumbled, terribly fond.

“You love it.” She motioned to the thermos in Sebastian’s hands. “Drink, and tell me about that short story you’re working on.”

*

“All I’m saying is, he just shows up and he’s there, decorating the tree, with that stupid fucking ornament, and I’m an idiot and I show up because it’s Lisa and I can’t say no to Lisa, and Scott’s there making jokes and it just felt like a goddamn Hallmark Christmas movie except there’s this, like, giant elephant in the room, and he’s taking a huge shit, and  _ nobody wants to point it out _ .” Sebastian took another pull on the thermos, before balling up another leather jacket (black, moto style) and throwing it on top of the pile of clothes.

“Easy with that, that’s the Varvatos I got you for your birthday!” Margo warned. She had moved from the chair to the bed, flopped down in a way that would make anyone else cringe, but on her body, it looked effortless. She scrolled through her phone, landing on the playlist of Christmas music she always played, the one that always pissed Sebastian off even more. 

“I can’t stay here three more days,” he kept going, ignoring her. “Three more  _ seconds _ , Margo, and I’m gonna crawl out of my skin. I don’t even know how I’m going to handle him living here full time now.” 

“Well, all I’m saying is, you don’t need to pack four leather jackets. You’ll look like Eurotrash threw up on you.”

“Fuck off.”

Margo winked just as “This Gift” by 98 Degrees starting blasting from Sebastian’s portable speakers. Sebastian let out an existential moan, and stomped to his bedroom door to the throaty sound of Margo’s laughter.  

“I need more alcohol,” he called over his shoulder, just as there were five knocks at his front door. 

He froze. The world did. Except for the godforsaken sound of Nick Lachey talking about how the night was silent and how Christmas was here or some bullshit.

Instantly Margo was behind him. “Is it him?”

“Definitely,” Sebastian murmured. “No one else has that knock. Exactly three times, a pause, then two more.” 

“You two are so fucking gross,” Margo sighed, before shoving her way past Sebastian and throwing open the door, revealing Chris on the front porch. 

“Oh. Uh.”

Chris stood there, awkward and startled and just about the most beautiful thing Sebastian had ever seen. He was dressed in what Sebastian had once fondly referred to as his uniform - flannel covering a black tshirt, and jeans, with a black peacoat and red scarf dangling over his neck. 

Margo, bless her, slipped between them with that dancer’s grace to grab her jacket. “You must be Chris. I’m  heading out the door because I don’t need to see this.” She turned to Sebastian and kissed his cheek. “Text me when you land,  Птичка.”

Sebastian secretly  _ lived  _ for the way Chris flinched.

When Margo was gone, he turned to Chris,  who looked like he’d swallowed five lemons. “What do you want? My Christmas decorations are already up,” he said quietly, keeping everything tamped down under a veneer of bitter friendliness.

“I didn’t know you - you had company.”

_ ‘Cause I’ve been waiting to give, this gift, tonight  
_ _ I’m down on my knees, there’s no better time- _

Sebastian grabbed his phone and turned the sound off on his speakers. Nick Lachey’s velvety voice vanished, leaving them in blessed, raw silence. “Yeah. That was Margo. Ex-girlfriend. Almost ex-fiance.”

“Ex-fiance?” The pinch in Chris’s jaw made Sebastian’s heart practically sing with delighted vengeance.

“ _ Almost _ . We dated after you - well. After you. Was close to proposing, but it didn’t work out.” Sebastian’s voice was breezy, in the way breezes were right before a hurricane. “It’s okay, we’re still friends. She was helping me pack.” 

“Pack.”

“Yeah. I’m flying to New York in the morning.”

“New York.”

“I didn’t realize you swallowed a parrot.”

Chris blinked, then shook his shoulders a little bit, almost to knock himself out of whatever fugue state he was in. “Sorry. I, um. Why are you going to New York?”

The sarcasm in Sebastian’s guts curdled. “Mom and David live there now.” Every word was bitten out. 

Guilt swam through Chris’s eyes. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Yeah, well, lots you don’t know, Chris.”

Chris flushed, shoulders hunching up. “I didn’t - ah - well. I was wondering if you wanted to go get a drink before - um, before you left?”

The little flare zapped, like lightning. “Are you asking me out right now?”

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets. “I figured - Mom said you weren’t seeing anybody -”

“And that gives you an in?” 

“I, well, I wanted to when we were decorating the house.” Chris’s shoulders caved inward. Sebastian could read every single one of his tells - the ones where he was comfortable, angry, horny. This was textbook anxious Chris. 

“Oh, because that gives me a whole set of reasons to say yes and none to say no, because it’s at your  _ mom’s house _ . I can’t say no under those circumstances. So you thought about just backing me into a corner, sweeping me off my feet like everything that happened didn’t happen?”

“Seb-”

“Don’t you fucking  _ Seb _ me,” Sebastian growled, keeping his tone as angry and as vitriolic as possible so it could never be mistaken for tears. “You leave here - you leave me - for a job in Boston you didn’t  _ tell me you were going to take _ \- and then you don’t come back for  _ seven years  _ \- and you just waltz in with your beers and your cookies and your ornaments, like everything is just fucking fine? I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you do that.”

Somewhere in the back of his brain Sebastian could hear Margo yelling  _ “amygdala!” _ but it was of no use. All Sebastian could think of was that day he found out Chris was moving away, had booked a dream job, and had never bothered to tell him. That day in their off-campus apartment, watching Chris throw shit in a bag and explain earnestly (so. fucking. earnestly) about how it was the job of a lifetime, that it was going to change everything, change his entire life, and when Seb had asked why, why the hell Chris hadn’t told him, Chris had had nothing to say other than “I didn’t think you would want to go.” 

“You didn’t fucking tell me you got a job that was going to take you away from here, away from  _ me _ \- and you never even apologized, never even cared to follow up with me, to see how I was doing, how my  _ stepdad  _ was doing - do you even realize what that did?  How much I had to recover from that? I had to pick up all of the pieces of us, start all over again and try to get over you, and then my stepdad got even sicker and we had to move him and Mom to New York for better treatment, and you don’t even bother to check in, because god forbid anyone get in the way of  _ your dreams. _ ” 

Chris had shrunk a good two inches in height since the start of Sebastian’s tirade. If he kept up this pace, he could get Chris to sink into the floor. Sebastian almost wanted to pause. He knew Chris, knew that this was positively killing him.

But it wasn’t Sebastian’s job to coddle Chris anymore.

He kept his voice dangerously low. “You never thought of me as a person, Chris. You saw me through what you wanted to see. I wasn’t your partner. I was your  _ coatrack _ .” 

Chris turned a delightful shade of bone.

“So yeah. I think I’m going to have to skip that drink.” Sebastian walked right past Chris - still frozen, still with his hands in his pockets like he was digging for his words - and turned on his heel, headed back inside. “Get off my property,” he murmured. “For the first time,  _ I’m _ walking away from  _ you _ .”

He turned around to face Chris one more time.

“And the thing I can’t figure out?” Seb found himself laughing through the hail of blood in his brain. “You said you didn’t think I would go with you. Chris Evans, you’re a fucking tool.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking down, or breaking Chris’s face. “I would’ve gone to the damn moon for you, if you’d only  _ asked _ .”

He slammed the door shut before he could see Chris’s face crack open any more. 

It wasn’t until Sebastian got to his bedroom - saw the pile of clothes on his bed with the corner of that Delta High School t-shirt sticking out of the mess - that he sat down with a hard thud on his desk chair, took his glasses off,  and fully, truly, let himself go. 

When he came back out, Chris was gone. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know Sebastian's stepdad's actual name so I called him David 
> 
> I hope all of you get "This Gift" stuck in your head. It's my argument that that song is about cunnilingus. Thank you for coming to my TEDx Talk.
> 
> Next up - BRENDA!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I should have asked you to teach me Romanian," Chris says, contrite. "I should have asked you to come with me to Boston. I should asked you what _you_ wanted rather than assuming that you didn't want the same things I did."_
> 
>  
> 
>  _"I didn't want the same things you did," Seb replies, matter-of-fact, and all the more devastating because of it. "But I wanted_ you _and the life I thought we were building together. I could have taught anywhere. I could have written anywhere."_
> 
> _Chris nods, his throat tight. He'd had so much, and had thrown it away._

Hindsight, Chris thinks, as he idly flips channels until he lands on one of the Hallmark movies, is one hell of a thing. He's never been a person who's lived his life in the rearview mirror, never had much interest in the past or in history. But it's impossible to ignore that his own past, his _personal_ history, has shaped so much of his present-day self. That the decisions he's made over the last seven years – maybe longer, if he's honest – have been rooted in one thing: Fear. Fear that he'd never amount to anything, fear that he'd die in the same town where he'd been raised, fear that he'd made a terrible mistake the day he'd left the farm and the town – left Seb – in the dust. 

And he'd been right, too, that's the worst part. He's failed; he's a _failure_. And now he's back in Muncie, back at the farm, and, well, as for Seb...

He hears the creak of the floorboard behind him, and turns his head to see Carly walking towards him, yawning behind her hand. "What're you doing up so late?" she asks.

"Couldn't sleep," Chris replies, and it's partially true. He's always battled insomnia, but lately it's been worse. Too many thoughts circling in his head, too many memories. Things he'd done, things he hadn't done, decisions to be made, decisions he'd made a long time ago –

– the look on Seb's face when he'd slammed the door last night.

Carly nods sagely, and swings around the back of the sofa to plop down next to him. "Pass the popcorn and tell me what we're watching."

Chris hands her the bowl and gestures at the screen. " _The Christmas Prince_."

"Sounds awesome." She tosses a handful of pieces into her mouth, crunching loudly. "Cazm'up," she mumbles.

Thankfully, Chris has had a lifetime of interpreting Carly-language. "Uh, just started watching, but so far it's got Katie McGrath looking stunning in everything she wears, a super hot prince who wears very tight pants, and adorable kids."

"You lusting after Katie or the prince?" Carly asks.

Chris snorts as he takes a sip of his beer. "I'm not bisexual because I'm good at _choosing_ , Ly-ly."

"You always were greedy." Carly grins a buttery, greasy grin, full of popcorn kernels, his way. His siblings are the worst. He wouldn't change a thing about them. Or his mom. Or the farm. Or...anything about growing up in Muncie, for that matter, although that had taken him a while to accept. But now he appreciates what he'd had – the quiet at night and being able to go outside and see all the stars, knowing all the neighbors, having a community he could count on. Seb...fuck, Seb. His first boyfriend. First kiss, first love, first everything. 

And yet, Chris thinks, even as far back as high school, even when they'd _lived_ together, as good as married, he'd always had one eye on the horizon. One foot out the door. All he'd dreamed about was leaving, getting that one shot to prove himself. And when he'd gotten it, he'd run as fast as he could and never once looked back to see the wreckage he'd left in his wake.

God, he is _such_ an asshole. 

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Carly flops her head on the sofa cushion and peers up at him. "Spill your guts, monkey."

"Do you...think I'm a bad person?" he asks, halting, and braces himself for the answer.

"Bad?" He's slightly gratified at how fast she shakes her head. "Nah, I'd have beaten it out of you if you were, like, toxic or something. You're a little selfish, maybe, but not bad."

Guilt curdles in his gut like sour milk. "Selfish?"

"Not malicious, no one thinks that you're some sort of self-centered dickhead, but...you tend to be...focused on _you_ sometimes."

"I don't think about other people," Chris confirms, quietly. "About what they think or want or...how they feel."

_You never thought of me as a person, Chris. You saw me through what you wanted to see._

"Sometimes," Carly says, not unkindly, but it's still a gutshot all the same. "Take Christmas, for instance," she continues. "Sometimes we didn't get to celebrate with you until February, and we always had to fly to Boston –"

The urge to defend himself is as reflexive as breathing. "Hey, I was normally working Christmas Eve or Christmas Day –"

She levels a look his way that's 70% Big Sister, 30% Mom, and 100% Done With His Shit. "I'm still talking," she admonishes, gentle, but firm. "We all knew what your schedule with the Patriots was like, Chris. We know how the NFL works. And we didn't mind celebrating with you late – the kids loved having a second Christmas. You just...you never once asked any of us how _we_ felt about it. If we were okay making that sacrifice every year for you."

"You guys never said anything –"

"We bitched all the time about it, just not to you."

"Oh." 

"God, stop with the puppy eyes. You're _family_ , doofus. But so are we." She lays a hand over his, and her smile this time is worn around the edges. "We were all so proud of you when you got the Pats job. But you weren't the only one who had dreams. Who wanted bigger and better."

"I know that."

"Do you?" she asks, and it comes out like a dare. One he's smart enough not to take. 

"Look, it wasn't just about...getting out or...I just wanted to prove myself, that's all," he finishes, cursing his clumsy tongue.

"Well, you did it – you were VP of Operations for the New England Patriots. No one can take that from you," she tells him. "But maybe now it's time to think about what else you want from your life."

He almost tells her about the offer from Ball State. But the words dry up on his tongue. He still isn't sure if moving back to Muncie would be a good thing or if it would be admitting defeat. He'd gotten so close, so fucking close, to his ultimate dream of being GM – and then came the regime change, and just like that, seven years of hard work and busting his ass and living and breathing Pats football 25/8 were all gone. 

But...what about what he'd left behind here? What he'd given up. He barely knows his family these days. He doesn't have any real friends to speak of, other than Downey, which is just sad. His last three attempts at a relationship had all burned out due to his crazy work schedule. Jenny had been the closest thing Chris had even had to a steady partner, and he'd only tried so hard with her because...well, because she'd reminded him so much of Seb, all of that sass and smarts wrapped into an irresistible package. And yet, he still hadn't been able to make things work with her. Just like everything else lately.

So, here he is, almost thirty, and his life is a mess. And the only time it _hadn't_ felt like one had been unwrapping decorations in this very room, and watching the way the Christmas lights had framed Seb's beautifully angled face.

"Anyway, as much fun as it is to psychoanalyze you, I get the feeling this little existential crisis isn't about any of us." Carly nudges him in the side with her elbow, and not gently. "So spill."

"Ugh." He groans, sinking back into the cushions, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I tried to ask Seb out last night –"

"Oh, honey, no, tell me you didn't –"

"Oh, I did alright. And he totally laid into me and told me I'm an asshole and a tool and a selfish fucknut."

"Well, he's not wrong." She pulls his arm down, and looks at him, benevolent and still sharp-edged. "You fucked him over and broke his heart. What else did you expect?"

"I dunno, I wasn't..." Shame washes over him, but he pushes on. Here, in the sheltering arms of his childhood home, around the people who know his every flaw and love him anyway, he can speak freely. "At first, I wasn't even thinking about the _possibility_ of running into him. Too busy feeling sorry for myself." 

And then, when he had seen Seb, all he'd been able to think about was how _good_ Seb had looked. How the years had sharpened his features and how well he'd filled out his jeans and how much Chris had wanted to kiss him, just to see if he still tasted the same.

Seb had been right, he thinks. Chris hadn't even considered what the last few days must have been like from Seb's point of view. About how awkward and weird and fucked up Chris showing back up must have been, how trapped he must have felt with his mom's not-so-subtle attempts at match-making, and Chris himself making the occasion all about himself and his wants, his needs.

Dick move, bro, he admonishes himself. But maybe it's not too late for him to...to make amends. Be a better person. To at least start to right some very old wrongs.

"You know where Seb's mom and step-dad live, don't you?" he asks abruptly, surprising himself. 

"Uh, yeah, we exchange cards every year," Carly says, then she pauses, a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. "Why are you asking?"

"Because that's where Seb is right now, and that's where I need to be to talk to him." There's so much he needs to say, and so much more he needs to hear.

Carly just blinks. "You do realize how creepy that sounds, right? Chasing after your ex after he's told you to fuck off?"

"Yeah, but it's not...I just need to...it's not like that." It isn't – he knows better now, knows he has a lot of work ahead of him. But he has to start somewhere, and there's no time like the present. 

"You're an idiot," she tells him. "And I can't believe I'm even saying this, but do what you gotta do. Just make sure you're back in town before the school Christmas pageant, or I'll kill you myself. The kids have been over the damn moon that you'll finally be here for one."

"I'll be back, I promise." He kisses her on the cheek to seal the deal, then picks up his phone from the coffee table. He has a flight to book.

***

The doubts only start to creep in once Chris rings the doorbell of the brownstone Seb's mom and step-dad own in SoHo. He should have called. He should have waited. Seb had made himself perfectly clear the last time they'd spoken, he should have just –

Seb opens the door, looking better than any person has a right to look, in a burgundy sweater and black jeans, and those frankly sexy-looking glasses framing his face. Chris curls his hands into fists to keep himself in check. This isn't about him and his wants.

"Chris?" Seb asks, blinking rapidly, like he's not sure if he's hallucinating. His knuckles are practically white from gripping the door handle.

Chris pastes on what he hopes is a non-threatening smile. "Yeah. Surprise." 

"I...I don't..." Seb lifts his free hand, then lowers it, an aborted movement, and tilts his head to study Chris out of wide eyes. "What, uh...what are you _doing_ here?"

"You were right," Chris blurts out, before he loses his nerve.

Seb's brows furrow, shock morphing into confusion. "What?"

"You were right," he repeats, the words tumbling out of him, faster and faster. "I was an asshole to you seven years ago, I was selfish and a dick and a bad boyfriend, a bad partner, and I just wanted to say –"

"Sebastian, _copilul meu_ , who’s–" Seb's mom, Georgeta, comes up to the door, and stares down at Chris out of eyes the same blue-grey shade as her son's. "Christopher, my boy. This is a surprise."

"Uh, hi there, Mrs. R." Chris lifts his hand in the world's most awkward wave.

"Why are you standing on the stoop?" she asks, and makes a sweeping motion with her hand. "Come inside, you'll catch your death in this weather –"

"Mom, he's –"

"It's fine," Chris interrupts. "I only stopped by to talk to Seb for a minute."

Her smile of welcome slides into a bemused frown. "You don't want to come in?"

"Maybe next time," he promises, hating himself all over again that he'd never bothered to check in on the people who had been like a second set of parents to him. "Tell Mr. R that I said hi and Merry Christmas. It's good to see you."

"And you, as well. Give your mother my best." She turns to Seb and says something to him in rapid Romanian – a language Chris had never even attempted to learn, in spite of the fact that it had been Seb's native tongue. He and Seb had been together almost six years and not once had he asked Seb to teach him even a few words.

He is _such_ a dick.

Georgeta finally disappears back inside the house, and Seb fully faces him once more. "You were...uh, saying?" 

"I should have asked you to teach me Romanian," Chris says, contrite. "I should have asked you to come with me to Boston. I should asked you what _you_ wanted rather than assuming that you didn't want the same things I did."

"I didn't want the same things you did," Seb replies, matter-of-fact, and all the more devastating because of it. "But I wanted _you_ and the life I thought we were building together. I could have taught anywhere. I could have written anywhere."

Chris nods, his throat tight. He'd had so much, and had thrown it away. "Do you still write?"

Seb lets out a laugh devoid of any humor. "My second book of short stories is coming out next summer."

" _Second_ book?" Chris says, faintly. "Jeez, that's, uh, that's amazing. You were always such a great writer...I wish I'd known, I would have...Mom never..." Mercifully, he's able to stop himself before he can stick his foot in his mouth any further. 

Of course, his mother had never told him about Seb's book. He hadn't _asked_. Hadn't wanted any reminders that Seb had moved on and had a life without him. It had been easier to pretend that all time had stopped in Muncie, that Seb and everyone else had remained frozen in place while Chris had charged out into the world to make his mark. 

"I'm sorry," he finally offers, helplessly aware that it's not nearly enough.

"It's fine," Seb says, shrugging. "Well, I mean, it's _not_ fine, but I wasn't exactly trying to keep up with what you were doing either. Haven't watched an NFL game since we broke up, in fact."

Chris deserves that. Deserves every rebuke and so much more. "I did think about you," he admits, softly. "I thought about you a lot. More than I thought I was going to...and I know I wasn't a good boyfriend to you, but I did love you, Seb, I swear, and it wasn't easy for me to leave you, no matter what you thought." 

He pauses for breath, but Seb doesn't say anything. His face, once so transparent, could be etched in marble for all the emotion he's showing. It's more than a little intimidating. But, because Seb deserves his honesty, and he's come all this way to at least try to clear the air between them, he keeps going. 

"But you were right," Chris continues. "I did take you for granted. And that's...I just...I wanted so badly to prove that I could make it on my own, that I didn't need anyone to help me or...and it's bullshit, I know that now, and it's no excuse, I know that, too. And you always –" he smiles, knows it's strained around the edges "– well, you always had your shit together and I admired that so much, admired _you_ , and I didn't think you needed me like I needed you, which is why I didn't tell you about the job offer. Which, again, that's my fault, and I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry I hurt you."

As far as apologies go, he probably couldn't have botched it any worse, but hopefully Seb gets what Chris is trying to say. He never did have Seb's gift with words.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Seb asks, far too solemn, his lips drawn thin, his forehead lined with stress. "Why are you _here_?"

 _Just tell him. Give him that much courtesy._

"Because I'm not just back in Muncie because the Pats let me go. I have a job offer from Ball State – assistant athletic director. No one knows yet – you're the first person I've told."

"Oh." Seb swallows, adam's apple visibly bobbing. "Okay."

"I haven't accepted it yet. I'm still figuring out my options, but...look, I'm not gonna lie, the offer is really tempting," Chris says. "And I just...I wanted you to know that I can't take back the last seven years, and all of the ways I fucked up. And maybe I _don't_ know you now. But you don't know me, either, and maybe we could...get to know each other. _Just_ as friends," he adds, although he wants...well, it doesn't really matter what he wants. Seb is the priority here. For once in his life, Chris is going to put someone else first.

Seb pushes his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know." Chris shivers under his pea coat, and not just from the New York wind. "But I'd really like the chance to start again. To get to know Sebastian Stan, high school English and Creative Writing teacher, and published author. I already knows he's talented as hell, and smart as fuck, and he seems like a pretty interesting guy. Like someone worth knowing."

"You're right, he is." Seb drags his hand across his mouth and stubbled jawline. "Look, I'm not saying that I forgive you and I'm not saying all is forgotten, either. But you flying all the way here just to tell me you're sorry?"

"It's too much, isn't it?" Chris guesses, wincing. He should have listened to Carly.

Seb shakes his head. His lips curve up slightly, a faint echo of the smile Chris used to love so much. "Totally the opposite," he says. "It's actually a pretty good start."

A pretty good start. Does that mean...? "What are you saying?"

"Right now, I'm saying go be with your family, and let me be with mine. And when I get back to Muncie..." He shrugs again, but his look is softer now. Almost fond. "Well, we'll see."

 _We'll see._ Which isn't a no. Which means Chris hasn't blown it entirely. "I can do that," he says, and sticks out his hand. "Merry Christmas, Seb."

After a moment, Seb takes it. Their palms and fingers slide together, the touch electric and warm, and Chris can physically _feel_ the lost, broken pieces of himself snap back into place in that single point of contact. 

"Merry Christmas, Chris," Seb replies, and shakes his head, chuckling quietly. "Now go home, already, and I'll see you when I get back."

Home. For the first time in Chris' life, he's looking forward to being there.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the lovely and talented Musette22!!!! <333


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I read your book,” Chris says suddenly.
> 
> Sebastian’s head swivels round, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You did? When?”
> 
> Chris gives him a sheepish smile. “I went straight to the nearest bookstore after I saw you in New York and then read it on the journey back.” When Sebastian doesn’t say anything, he continues, “It… it’s really good, Seb. Really good.”
> 
> “Um, thanks,” he replies, not really knowing what else to say.

Sebastian walks the last few steps up to the Evans’ family house, taking a deep, bolstering breath as he raises a hand to ring the doorbell. Before his finger can connect with the button, however, the door suddenly swings open. Chris, dressed in his coat and hat, only narrowly manages to avoid a head-on collision by stopping dead in his tracks at the last second, his eyes growing wide in surprise as he clocks Seb standing on his front porch.

“Uh, hi,” Sebastian says dumbly, before realizing his hand is still in the air and quickly letting it drop to his side.

“Hey,” Chris replies breathlessly, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks as he hastily reaches up to pull off his hat. “Hi. What are you… I mean, when…” He abruptly stops talking and sucks in a sharp breath, holding it for a moment before slowly letting it out again. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing his left bicep in what Seb remembers to be a nervous gesture. “How was the rest of your trip? When did you get back? I figured you’d be spending Christmas with your family.”

Sebastian is reluctantly charmed by how flustered Chris seems; his helpless floundering a clear sign that he doesn’t have a clue where the two of them stand now. It also makes Seb feel just a little guilty for his outburst of last week. On one level, he knows it had been inevitable and necessary – all the pent-up anger and resentment that had been simmering away inside of him for so long had to come out at _some_ point. At the same time, though, some of the more spiteful things he’d said had been playing on a loop inside his head over the past few days, and he can only imagine how it must have felt for Chris to be on the receiving end of all that.

Of course, he’d seen Chris in New York since then, had told him that he appreciated his gesture of coming all the way there to apologize, but he also recognizes that a handshake and a ‘we’ll see when I get back’ didn’t exactly give Chris much to go on. Sebastian refuses to apologize – because, _lord,_ did Chris have it coming – but he’s prepared to throw him a lifeline.

So he smiles at him. “Yeah, it was good, thanks,” he replies. “Came back last night. Mom and David are off to visit family in Romania for Christmas and New Year’s, and I kinda wanna use the rest of the school holidays to get some work done on the book, you know?”

Chris nods vigorously. “Right, yeah, of course. That’s great. Good to hear David’s doing better, that’s really great,” he gushes. Then he falls silent for a moment, before adding, a little more suavely, “It’s good to see you, Seb.”

Sebastian finds himself smiling again. “It’s good to see you too, Chris.”

He chooses that moment to lift up the bottle that he’s been holding in his gloved right hand. “I'm just dropping off Lisa’s yearly dose of _Țuică_ ,” he explains. “Courtesy of my mom.” The bottle of strong, Romanian plum spirit had become part of the Christmas tradition between their two families, which Lisa and Georgeta had managed to keep up by even after Chris and Sebastian’s split. Honestly, the two women had handled the whole situation far more gracefully than either of their sons had.

“Oh,” Chris breathes, sounding surprised, clearly unaware of the tradition in question. “Right, thank you. Mom’s actually out on a grocery run right now, but she’ll be thrilled to find this when she gets back.”

He motions for Sebastian to come in and leads him through to the kitchen, where he puts the bottle and the accompanying card on the counter. A mildly awkward silence ensues, until Sebastian clears his throat, the sound echoing loudly in the empty space.

“So,” he starts, “were you heading somewhere, or…?”

Chris startles a little, seemingly having forgotten all about going out. “Oh yeah, no. I was just going to get some fresh air, actually.” He gives Sebastian a hesitant look and opens his mouth as if to say something, before snapping it closed again, shaking his head with a wry little smile.

“What?” Sebastian prompts.

“Well, I was…”, Chris tries again, before huffing and rolling his eyes at himself, pushing out the next words in a rush. “I was just wondering if you‘re doing anything right now? ‘Cause, you know, if you’re not, then I was thinking you could join me for a walk, if you want? And maybe we could, um, talk?”

Without thinking, Seb blurts out, “No.” He instantly cringes at Chris’s kicked puppy expression, before hastening to clarify, “I mean, no, I’m not doing anything right now. A walk sounds, um… Walk sounds good.”

Sebastian sighs internally at his own lack of self-preservation, but he can’t quite bring himself to retract his words, especially when Chris proceeds to break out into a smile as bright and beautiful as the sun. It seems he’s just gonna have to resign himself to the fact that he’ll always have trouble keeping a cool head in the face of Chris’s stupid beard and his stupid muscles and his stupid fucking everything else.

\---

It’s a cold, quiet day; heavy, somehow, like there may be snow in the air. They walk in silence for a few minutes, hands shoved deep into pockets, their breaths forming little clouds of white in the air.

Ever since Chris had shown up unexpectedly at his mom’s house in New York, Sebastian frankly hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Hasn’t been able to stop wondering if Chris really meant everything he’d said, standing out there on the steps, making those big declarations and looking so goddamn earnest while doing so. Although he knows that no grand gesture is capable of simply erasing all the bad stuff and the years of silence that lie between them, he can’t deny it meant an awful lot that Chris had bothered to follow him all the way to New York just to apologize.

Could it be that Chris really _has_ changed? That he’s finally learned that his actions affect not just himself, but everyone around him, too? A small, nagging part of his brain still worries that Chris is just trying to get back into his good graces (or, god forbid, his pants) by any means available. But after spending the past few days conjuring up his sincere face in his mind’s eye, replaying over and over those words he’d never expected to hear from the man who had tossed him aside so carelessly, Sebastian catches himself feeling tentatively hopeful. Still, he figures it’s probably wise to keep Chris at arm’s length for the time being, at least until he somehow proves he’s serious about this.

As if reading his mind, Chris suddenly speaks up. “I read your book,” he says.

Sebastian’s head swivels round, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You did? When?”

Chris gives him a sheepish smile. “I went straight to the nearest bookstore after I saw you in New York and then read it on the journey back.” When Sebastian doesn’t say anything, he continues, “It… it’s really good, Seb. _Really_ good.”

“Um, thanks,” he replies, not really knowing what else to say.

“I, uh…” Chris clears his throat. “I was especially struck by the story about the ballet dancer.”

Sebastian’s heart skips a beat, and he finds himself unintentionally holding his breath while he waits for Chris to continue.

“I don’t want to sound presumptuous,” Chris says carefully, “so please just tell me if I’m totally barking up the wrong tree here, but… I can’t help but wonder if that story was –”

“– about you?” Sebastian cuts in. Chris darts him a nervous sideways glance, and nods.

He has to close his eyes for a second to quell the sudden surge of emotion rising up in his chest. “Yeah, Chris”, he sighs. “It is.”

The story Chris is referring to, the one about a Russian ballet dancer who abandons everything and everyone he’s ever known in pursuit of his dream to become a principal dancer at the Bolshoi ballet, leaving heartbreak and destruction in his wake, was one of the first ones Sebastian ever wrote. It’s a tragic kind of fairy tale, one that cost him a lot to write, but which is also the closest to his heart of all the stories in that first book. Chris had left, and Seb had desperately needed to find a way to make sense of all the heartbreak and confusion. It had helped, if only a little, but the emotions still feel raw, even after all these years.

“Oh, Seb,” Chris whispers, barely audible. “I never realized…” He trails off and swallows thickly, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. There’s a beat of silence.

“Thank you,” he says then, more firmly. “For writing that story. For being honest with me the other day, brutally so.” He sighs and drags a hand over his face, lingering on his beard in a gesture that’s painfully familiar. “I think I really understand now, what I did. How it affected you. Everyone. That I not only failed myself, but also everyone around me, and worst of all you. And I’m truly sorry.” He looks genuinely pained and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle, devoid of humor. “It’s been one hell of a reality check, these past couple of weeks, but… I think I needed this. Needed the wake-up call. So, thank you.”

When eventually Chris falls silent, Sebastian finally remembers to breathe. He abruptly stops walking, and when Chris notices he’s no longer beside him, he stops too, slowly turning around to look back at him with apprehension written all over his handsome face.

“You know, Chris,” Seb starts, careful to keep his expression neutral, although he’s unable to conceal the slight wobble in his voice. “Up until this moment, I honestly wasn’t sure if you really did understand. Whether you _truly_ got it, or if you were just pulling out all the stops to try to get me to forgive you.”

Chris’s eyes are downcast, his shoulders tense as he stands there, awaiting judgement.

“But you reading my book…” Sebastian shakes his head and smiles, a little ruefully. “I’m pretty sure the old Chris would’ve never been able to make the connection between an abstract fairy tale and his own actions. That Chris may have been many wonderful things, but he sure as hell wasn’t big on self-reflection.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, Chris’s head snaps up, his big eyes wide and round. For a moment, they just look at each other, and then Sebastian spreads his arms in a wordless invitation. The second it clicks, Chris’s face crumples. He closes the distance between them in two quick strides, wrapping his strong arms around him and hugging him tightly to his body.

Even after everything that happened, after all that time apart, it still feels like coming home, like becoming whole again, and like all the other terrible clichés Sebastian’s addled brain is too overwhelmed to resist right now. So he figures he can’t be blamed for clinging a little, or for tucking his face into the crook of Chris’s neck and breathing him in.

“I’m gonna take the Ball State job, Seb,” Chris confesses suddenly, his words muffled by Sebastian’s thick, woolen scarf. “I’m not telling you this to put pressure on you, but I think you should know, anyway. For what it’s worth.” His embrace grows impossibly tighter, making it hard for Sebastian to breathe. He doesn’t care. “I know I don’t deserve you anymore. Hell,” Chris huffs, “maybe I never really did. But I hope you’ll give me a chance to try and earn back your trust. You mean too much to me not to at least try.”

Sebastian pulls back from the hug then to look Chris in the eye, and finds only sincerity there.

“Goddammit, Chris,” he croaks, holding Chris’s gaze. “You’re a fucking idiot, but I believe you. But please, _I beg you_ , for all that’s good and holy, _don’t_ fuck this up. ‘Cause if you do, that’ll be it. For good, this time.” There’s a finality to his words that he’s sure Chris doesn’t miss.

Chris bites back a sob, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to get his bearings. “I know,” he rasps, blinking rapidly. “I don’t ever wanna let you down again, Seb. But please promise me you’ll tell me when you think I need to try harder. ‘Cause I’m scared to death I’ll fuck it all up again without even realizing.”

Sebastian’s heart breaks a little at the remorse and self-recrimination he can hear plain as day in Chris’s voice, so he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.” He takes off his smudged glasses to clean them on his scarf, and has to clear his throat a few times before he’s able to get any more words out.

“Wanna walk into town and get hot chocolate at the Bean & Leaf?” he asks eventually.

Chris chuckles, a little wetly. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that a lot.”

And so they turn left, heading in the direction of the coffee shop where they spent a good portion of their shared youth consuming their own body weight in Oreo cheesecake. They settle down at the table near the window, Seb’s erstwhile favorite spot, drinking their hot chocolates and just… talking. They’ve got a lot to catch up on, and since it looks like Chris will be sticking around, now seems like as good a time as any to start to get to know each other again. Get to know the people they’ve become in the other’s absence.

They’re by no means wholly out of the danger zone yet, nor are they back to the way they used to be, and they probably never will be again. But perhaps that’s for the best, Sebastian thinks. Whatever they’ll become this time around, perhaps it will be better than it was.

When they finally leave the café, it’s starting to get dark, the Christmas lights lining the trees twinkling brightly in the twilight.

“I’ll walk you home,” Chris says.

“You don’t –”

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupts gently, “but I want to. If… if that’s okay with you.”

Seb briefly catches his bottom lip between his teeth, then smirks at Chris. “Look at you, being all considerate,” he teases.

Instead of coming over all mock-affronted like he expected, Chris just turns his head to give him a soft look, making Sebastian’s heart flutter in his chest. Before he can overthink it, he wordlessly slips his hand into Chris’s. Chris stills briefly, but then he smiles, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

As they start walking, tiny flecks of white suddenly start to flutter down from the sky, floating weightlessly through the air and settling on their coats and hair for a moment before melting away into nothingness.

It feels like a blessing, somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. I know Seb’s stepdad’s name’s Anthony, but I decided to stick with David for consistency!
> 
> Come and find me on [Tumblr](https://musette22.tumblr.com/) :D
> 
> The wonderful Ediblecrayon is the next author to contribute!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t be friends with you,” Sebastian blurts out, mouth closing with a snap as soon as the words have spilled out. He feels Chris stiffen beside him, and squeezes his hand before going on, carefully, “I can’t _just_ be friends with you, Chris. There’s too many memories between us, and I could never put them behind me as long as we stay in contact.” He gnaws at his lip, blinking at the sudden moisture in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can be more, either. We’re different people now, we can never go back to what we were.”

Despite the winter cold snap and the icy flecks gently raining down on them, Sebastian doesn’t find himself at all in a rush to return home. When Chris makes to turn in the direction leading back to the Evans household, Sebastian tugs him to a stop, eyes flitting down to their still joined hands.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet,” he says in a desperate rush, words tumbling out one after another. “Can we just...keep walking? Anywhere. I’m just...not ready to go home,” he finishes softly, cheeks pinking at the admission. _Home alone_ his mind finishes for him. To his immense relief, Chris doesn’t question it, simply squeezes his hand again and turns them back towards the major city roads. 

They walk in silence, Sebastian trying not to cling to Chris’s hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure he’s fully forgiven Chris, not just yet -because of course he will at some point, it’s _Chris_ for Christ’s sake. They were like magnets, in a way, so close and yet pulling away from another with polarizing views. Now it’s like someone flipped the circuit, and they’re slowly being drawn closer together. They’re not one hundred percent, nowhere near in fact, but they’re healing, slowly slipping back into one another’s orbit. 

Sebastian’s drawn from his thoughts by a sudden halt and Chris’s hiss of surprise. His face is a mix of fondness and remorse, and when Sebastian tracks his line of sight, he realizes that they’ve come to a stop in front of the Steriti Memorial Rink. They had tried ice skating, once, on one of their first dates and had failed spectacularly at it. They had never tried again, but it was a good memory, for both of them. Now it just stings. 

And yet-

It somehow feels like they were meant to wind up here, back where it all started. It’s all come full circle, from start to finish, a new beginning for both of them. Sebastian braces himself, then tugs Chris forward. “C’mon, he says, smiling softly, though it’s painful, “Let’s go watch.”

They’re both silent, Seb winding their way through the few people not inside the rink while Chris shuffles awkwardly behind him. Once inside, they plaster themselves against the railing to watch the skaters, some far more impressive than others. 

“I can’t be friends with you,” Sebastian blurts out, mouth closing with a snap as soon as the words have spilled out. He feels Chris stiffen beside him, and squeezes his hand before going on, carefully, “I can’t _just_ be friends with you, Chris. There’s too many memories between us, and I could never put them behind me as long as we stay in contact.” He gnaws at his lip, blinking at the sudden moisture in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can be more, either. We’re different people now, we can never go back to what we were.”

“So what do we do now?” Chris rasps. He’s trembling ever so slightly, and it’s not from the cold. 

“We start over,” Sebastian says, swiping at his eyes. “Make something new. We’ll figure it out. We always did.”

He feels a tentative arm snake around his waist and he leans into it, closing his eyes as he breathes in the scent of Old Spice and coffee wafting off the man beside him. His heart aches for what could have been, for what they lost, but he feels lighter somehow. There’s still a lot of talking to be done, possibly a lot of yelling too, but this is a start. A good start.

And when he feels Chris press closer against him, he goes with it, tiredly; willingly. He can work with this for now. Everything else can wait.

And somehow, he knows they’ll be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've about reached the end! Next up is the amazing gingertintedglasses!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Chris slipped in the front door it was nearly midnight and his mother was sitting awake in the kitchen. She motioned him over to the table where she had two shot glasses and the unopened bottle of Țuică. 
> 
> “Mom?”
> 
> “This is a liquor you sip.” She leveled a knowing look at him. “It’s also, among other things, typically for reunions.”
> 
> “Mom.”
> 
> “Family reunions, but still. It counts.”
> 
> “I don’t even know what Seb and I are. What we’ll be. If we’ll be anything. We’re just…giving it a try.”
> 
> “It sounds like a promising start.” Her hand on his arm had Chris looking up from his shot. “You flew to New York to talk to him. You’re talking to him this time. That’s already different. Just keep doing that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Thank you to everyone that contributed to this year's Evanstan Round Robin! I have so enjoyed reading each chapter and seeing the wonderful turns and colors that everyone has brought to this year's story! This chapter might be a little long but I hope you enjoy it!

When Chris slipped in the front door it was nearly midnight and his mother was sitting awake in the kitchen. She motioned him over to the table where she had two shot glasses and the unopened bottle of _Țuică_. 

“Mom?”

“This is a liquor you sip.” She leveled a knowing look at him. “It’s also, among other things, typically for reunions.”

“Mom.”

“ _Family_ reunions, but still. It counts.”

“I don’t even know what Seb and I are. What we’ll be. If we’ll be anything. We’re just…giving it a try.”

“It sounds like a promising start.” Her hand on his arm had Chris looking up from his shot. “You flew to New York to talk to him. You’re _talking_ to him this time. That’s already different. Just keep doing that.” 

“What if I can’t?” 

Lisa’s face shuttered and she shook Chris’ arm twice. “Then you call him now and—“

“—No! Mom. I mean, what if I mess up and don’t say something I should or I’m supposed to?”

“Oh, honey. Then you apologize. He’s not expecting perfection, he’s expecting you to _try_.”

“But he deserves perfect.” Chris took a large sip of his shot. Blamed the burn behind his eyes on the liquor.

“Then you’re already doing just fine.”

Lisa stood and downed her shot all at once before dropping a kiss on Chris’ forehead. “Now get some sleep.”

“I thought you said that was a _sipping_ liquor?!”

Lisa grinned, mischievous. “Don’t tell your mother what to do.”

 

*****

 

“Is it weird that I’m talking about Chris with you?”  
  


“Talking about an ex, to an ex? Is it weird? Maybe a few years ago, yeah. Not now. Just tell me how you think it went.”

“Good?”

“Are you asking me? Because I wasn’t there to know, Seb.”

Sebastian groaned and sank into his couch. “It was good. Weird. Familiar. I’m so…” he picked at the label on his beer “I just want to know _now_. Whether it’s going to be a mistake or not, I mean. I want to see what happens, I missed him. I also feel like I’m a fucking idiot for feeling that way.”

“I mean, you did tell him exactly how you felt when he showed up unannounced in New York.”

He had. He’d called Margarita and told her and only freaked out a little about how vindicated he felt and how he was only still a little shaky with adrenaline.

“Yeah.”

“I think as long as you keep those boundaries firm and don’t let him off the hook just because he makes the right moves and says the right words for a little while but rather because really seems to have _changed_ , you’re good.” 

“ _You’re_ good. Thank you.” It’d been a long, rocky road but he and Margo had wanted one another in their lives and they’d worked hard to be friends and not bitter.

He’d done it once; he could do it again. And maybe he could do it with a romantic relationship. It’d be more work, he knew that, and if Chris was willing –and willing to _show_ he was willing- then he was willing, too.

“C’mon.” Margo kicked lazily at his foot from her place on his armchair.   “Let’s order pizza and drink beer and fall asleep to a Christmas-movie marathon. “ She motioned towards the box collection of Claymation movies Seb had stashed in his entertainment center.

“Perfect.”

 

*****

 

 _So I know it’s Xmas Eve but I wanted to take u to bfast. If ur free._ Came the text from Chris (that woke him up).

Sebastian itched for a red pen, but couldn’t help his smile.

 _Sure. Love to. Where?_ It was early but he rolled out of bed after hitting send. He could grab a quick shower and be ready fairly quickly.

By the time he was padding back into his bedroom rubbing his hair with a towel, a text was waiting for him.

_Red Barn Diner? I can pick u up at 9? If that works?_

Sebastian glanced at his wall clock and then his closet.   It was 8:30. _Perfect. See you then._

Two wide-smile-smiley emoticons and a _Great! C u then!_ Was the reply that came near-instantly.

Sebastian threw on dark-wash jeans and a thermal undershirt and a cozy grey cashmere sweater. Then changed out of that and into a dark blue cable knit sweater. And then back to the grey shirt. And then back to the cable knit. It was the Red Barn. It wasn’t a fancy place and the blue shirt was nice but not _too_ dressy. He looked fine. He ran his hands through his hair to coax it up from where it had dried half-flat.

When he looked out the window of his building at five-of, Chris was stepping out of his car, bundled up in jeans and a jacket and a black beanie. Chris was _early_ and Sebastian realized he was smiling. By the time Chris buzzed his condo, Seb was halfway out the door. 

“Hey!” Chris beamed at him from the doorstep.

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Is that ok?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian smiled. “Definitely. –Thank you.”

Chris shrugged, bashful. “This matters to me. _You_ matter to me. I set an alarm so I’d be on time at the latest.”

Sebastian smiled wider. “That’s – thank you, Chris.”

Chris blushed. “Of course – uhm, breakfast?” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder towards his car.

“Please.”

 

*****

 

“So what else have I missed, aside from your amazing book? I assume I’ve missed a lot.”

Sebastian sipped his coffee and thought. Chris knew about his relationship Margarita, in brief. It wasn’t really a topic for breakfast, but it _was_ something to talk about in the near future; she was his best friend and he wasn’t willing to compromise that.

“Well, I got my Masters and passed the teaching certification and have been teaching at the high school for the past five years. English Lit. I wrote the book, which you knew about, and now I’ve got the second coming out soon, too. Uh. I’ve had the condo for the past couple of years; I moved out of the apartment I had in college a few years back after saving up. –The book really helped with that.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, I’ve been working, writing, studying, visiting my parents a couple times a year when I can.” 

Chris nodded. “And how are they?” 

“Good. Dad retired a couple years ago and they moved to New York. Took advantage of all it had to offer – they go to the theatre or a concert or a new restaurant –or dancing, they took up salsa dancing last year – every weekend at least. They’re really active. Dad’s…his health isn’t perfect. We’re working on it. With Mama on the job, it’ll get figured out.”

Chris sat back as their food arrived, pulling his elbows of the table. “Good – that’s good. I miss them.”

“Mm. They were asking about you, over Christmas.”

Chris blushed again. “I’m sorry if that—“

“—What have _you_ been up to?” Sebastian didn’t want another apology. He wanted to start over.

Chris stopped in his tracks, staring at Sebastian for a handful of moments before straightening. It was something Sebastian hadn’t seen in years but that he knew meant Chris had mentally shaken himself and refocused. He was only a little annoyed at himself that he remembered that.

“I – well, I moved to Boston, for the opportunity at the Beacon Gallery. They showed a few of my pieces and – it was a great opportunity, for a new artist. They have work from artists all over the world, new and established, and they work to connect them with collectors and the industry in general.” Chris sighed, and stabbed at his eggs. “It…didn’t really go anywhere. I did a bunch of odd jobs to pay rent, had a lot of roommates no matter where around the city I lived. I bartended, worked retail, waited tables, was a barista – all kinds of things, so I could work part of the day and focus the rest of the time on my art. Tried to get some work at the MFA so that I was even just _in_ the field. It…still didn’t work.” 

He took a bite of his eggs and chewed thoughtfully.

“Sorry.” Sebastian was. Chris was an excellent artist and it made him sad that Chris’ talent hadn’t been recognized. How Chris went about moving to Boston was a different story. 

Chris shrugged. “I eventually landed a job with the Patriots. One of their management staff frequented the bar I tended and we talked about sports constantly.” He smiled, self-deprecating. “You know how much I love sports.” 

Sebastian huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

Chris did that thing again where he shook himself, and stared at Sebastian for several long moments. 

“What, Chris?”

 

*****

 

Sebastian laughed, soft and affectionate (Chris hoped it was affectionately, anyway), and: yes. Of course Sebastian knew Chris liked sports. They would watch football on Sundays and baseball in the summer because Chris loved it. Sebastian wasn’t as interested in sports, but Chris was; there were several restaurants that had TVs in their bar areas tuned to the game-of-the-week, and so they would often go get a bite to eat and watch part of a game on weekends. It was a weekly lunch or dinner date, yes.   Sports were Chris’ thing. He loved them and while the art hadn’t worked out as well as he’d hoped, he’d ended up in the sports industry and did his art on the side, mostly for himself. Sebastian didn’t dislike sports, but he preferred old movies and museums and could lose hours of time in a bookshop. He’d loved visiting the gallery in Muncie with Chris to see the new exhibitions. 

Chris hadn’t been seeing the bigger picture. He’d been trying to come to terms with how selfish he’d been, and it was difficult but necessary. He was good at dealing with myopia when it came to his art; _see the bigger picture, Chris, what is this_ really _about?_ But it wasn’t so easy when it came to other things. He had to work on that. Sebastian was right. It wasn’t that some things hadn’t been about Sebastian. It was that many had been about _him_. He could change that; he could do balance. He could _work_ on changing that.

Sebastian was still waiting for a response, and asked again: “Chris?”

Chris shook himself. “Sorry. Uh. So, I know I told you I was going to take the job at Ball State. I haven’t signed the paperwork officially yet because of the holidays, but I know there’s a lot that goes on around campus. I mean, maybe we could go to some poetry readings, or to some of the classic film festivals or the book signings they sometimes have at the bookshops – I mean, not that you probably haven’t yourself before, but. Just. Together. If you want. As, uh, dates.”

Sebastian beamed and shoved a bite of pumpkin pancake into his mouth. He chewed slowly, for a bite that wasn’t all that big. When he finally set down his fork, he nodded. “Yeah, Chris. Yes, I’d like that." 

It was Chris’ turn to smile too wide, and he reached a hand tentatively half way across the small table.   It was only a few moments before Sebastian reached out and took his hand. “I’m really thankful that you’ve been willing to see me, to give this –me- a chance. I – I’m going to try hard to do it right this time. To give you what you need, and not just myself.”

Sebastian squeezed his hand. “I’m going to try, too. I did miss you, you know.”

“Yeah? I missed you, too. So much.”

Sebastian blinked quickly a couple of times. “I’m easy to miss.” Sebastian grinned, eyes shining.

“You have no idea, Seb.” Chris swiped quickly at an eye with his free hand. “We’ll figure it out. _I’ll_ figure it out. We’ll do it together. For real, this time.”  

 


End file.
